


The Ordinary World

by gingasaur



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Character Death Fix, F/F, F/M, Future Fic, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-07-06 02:28:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15876594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingasaur/pseuds/gingasaur
Summary: Twenty-one years after her death, Jadzia wakes up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters, boy howdy. I don't have a schedule and you should know that going in.
> 
> While the chapter count isn't finalized, don't even fret about me not knowing what happens next. I know exactly where it's going and how it's going to get there.
> 
> Tags will be added as chapters are posted, otherwise I'll definitely forget people and things. However, the relevant relationships are tagged now.
> 
> @ the ds9 doc team, listen I don't know what your plans are there in that season 8 thing you have going on, but here's my mission statement: bringing Jadzia back is this easy! Your move, buckaroos.

Jadzia remembers being awake. She remembers it like she read it once, in a book, a long time ago. She remembers it like it happened to someone else.

Jadzia remembers breathing: how the lungs expand and contract, filling with air only to expel it, over and over again to keep the heart beating.

Jadzia remembers the heart, remembers the veins connected to the heart, remembers the blood within the veins.

It’s not only the heart to which the veins connect – there is something else, something hanging at the edge of distant memory.

Her palm rests against her abdomen. Nothing stirs beneath the skin.

She gasps, hoarse and strangled, her lungs stinging like they are full of splinters, and this is how Jadzia remembers that she should be dead.

\---

There is a path in the forest, naturally worn and well-traveled. It’s the only direction to follow, so Jadzia walks, tracing the constellations above her. 

An hourglass, two wings, the tail of a beast. Torias would know what to do with these, would know how to pinpoint his own coordinates from just one star.

Jadzia puts a hand to her abdomen again, just to be sure. Nothing.

She has to stop and lean against a tree, a sharp pain in her side. She knows these stars. She knows that the hourglass does not bear sand, that the wings do not fly where there is wind, that the beast is fast and lithe and skilled at climbing.

An orb. The Golden Lightship. The mother who birthed all hara cats.

Bajor.

She is moving downhill, and she keeps stopping to catch her breath. Her heart pounds painfully in her chest. Maybe once you’ve died, she thinks, stamina is the first to go.

In the morning, she comes upon tall buildings with shining steeples and bridges nestled above waterfalls. The city’s name won’t come to her.

She makes her way to a market street, wandering among the crowd, overwhelmed by the rush of sounds and smells.

A woman with wrinkles around her eyes catches her staring at a spread of white rolls.

“If you see something you like, go ahead,” she says, wiping flour from her arms.

She’d like them, all right. All of them, all at once. It’s not only her abdomen that’s empty.

“I don’t see your prices,” Jadzia says, running her hands along the sides of her dress, knowing full well there are no pockets, knowing full well that aside from the Ferengi, the dead generally don’t carry money.

“Prices?” the woman asks. “We haven’t used money since 2382.”

The roll is spicy enough to make her eyes water. It’s familiar, but like everything else, Jadzia feels as if she’s not the one who used to eat it.

2382\. She needs a chronometer. But a chronometer can only tell her what she already knows just by looking at her own hands: the skin is tighter around her bones, the lines around her knuckles more pronounced.

She’s not so sure she’s ready to know what year it is. She’s not so sure she’s ready to look in a mirror to find out.

There is a large building at the end of the street, with people streaming in and out of the doors. Just before the doors are rows of terminals, and above those terminals are projections. People swipe at the air with their hands and the holograms move along with their motions.

A terminal is open right beside her, and it blossoms to life as she approaches. It’s displaying lists, Jadzia realizes, lists of transports to planets and starbases and-

She almost flicks right past Deep Space Nine.

Whatever the year may be, the station still exists.

The line for its transport isn’t the longest, but it is the most diverse. No one would need a sign to find it, not with Betazoids and Bolians, Bajorans and Vulcans, Romulans, Klingons, Cardassians, a few others she does not even recognize. They all place their thumbs against a scanner and move on – even the Romulans and the Cardassians do it like coming to and from Bajor is a regular part of their day.

Jadzia puts her thumb against the scanner, staring ahead down the corridor to the transport. 

The scanner beeps and turns red.

“Ah, this one can be so touchy.” An officer comes up beside her, smiling. “Just press down hard.”

She does. It makes the same angry sound.

The officer takes a look at a console and chuckles to himself. “That can’t be right.”

A second officer comes up behind him. He is stiff and stern, with a long scar across his cheek, and he looks from the console to Jadzia with harsh eyes.

Jadzia puts her thumb to the scanner one more time.

No change.

The gruff officer beckons. “Will you come with us, please?”

It’s not a request.

\---

They let her cook for a while, alone in a windowless room with a glass of water, made with a rubbery material that can’t break. The table and chair are cold and hard. She shifts uncomfortably and sighs.

Just as she’s thinking she should have figured this would happen, the door opens, and that mean-looking officer returns, flanked by two others and holding a PADD. He sits in the chair across from her and leans his elbows on the table.

They stare at each other for a while. Jadzia slowly reaches for her glass.

Finally, the officer says, “Do you know why you’re here?”

He’s probably not asking existentially. 

“I think I might,” Jadzia says, taking a long sip of water.

“And why might you be in this room?”

Odo flashes through her mind. It’s hard not to laugh, thinking of how she might reply to him.

When she doesn’t answer right away, the officer waves his PADD. “Says here that you died in 2374.”

Jadzia can only offer him a small shrug. “Well, it’s not wrong.”

The officer’s eyes narrow. “You’re acknowledging that you died.”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” the officer says. He leans back and folds his arms. “Then why don’t you go ahead and tell me how you… ‘died’.”

Jadzia grimaces, but the officer doesn’t budge. The two behind her on either side of the door stare straight ahead, arms behind their backs.

She turns to the officer again. He cocks his head to the side, waiting.

All right, fine. If he really wants to know, she’ll tell him.

“My internal organs were burned inside my body.”

She lets that rest for a bit, but there’s no reaction whatsoever. 

“All of them,” Jadzia adds.

Still nothing. Really? She wants to reach across the table and shake the officer by his shoulders. Roasted organs aren’t worth a flinch?

“Listen,” Jadzia says. “Can I speak to Kira Nerys? Or maybe Benjamin Sisko?”

The officer cocks his head in the other direction, like he is humoring her and quickly running out of patience for it. “You want to talk to General Kira.”

_General_ Kira.

The officer gives it a few more minutes, then motions with his head to the other two, and they all leave.

Jadzia pushes her glass from hand to hand. After walking all night, fatigue is catching up with her, and being in this dull room isn’t helping. She rests her arms on the table and rests her head on her arms. She wishes she had a pillow. She wishes she were in a bed. The beeping of door panels rings in her head. It’s so quiet in here. She needs the hum of the station.

The door opens, making her jump. She sits up, brushing her hair out of her face.

“Which universe?”

Jadzia blinks, bleary-eyed and disoriented. For a moment, she is sure she’s still asleep.

There are some silver strands in her hair now, but it’s as red as ever. She stands straight and tall, her features accentuated by distinguished lines and if Jadzia didn’t know better, if she didn’t know there is no such thing as a queen of Bajor, she might think she was in the room with her now.

“Which universe,” Kira repeats, “did you come from? We can get you home.”

Jadzia shakes her head. “I don’t-”

Kira’s gaze lingers, but never meets her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she says, chuckling softly. “Jadzia Dax passed away in this universe, so you’ll forgive me if this is a little difficult.”

Jadzia’s not certain of much, but she knows she’s not from anywhere else. She can feel herself pulled by her bones down to this earth. This universe is where she died.

“Nerys,” she says. “It’s me.”

“You shouldn’t be away for too long,” Kira says. “Go ahead and tell us how you got here and we’ll do our best to duplicate the conditions.”

“I’m not from anywhere else.”

Kira’s expression hardens in an instant. Her red lips press into a thin line.

“You know, this sort of thing makes me very tired,” she says, her voice low. “And I don’t feel like being tired today.”

“Let me prove it to you,” Jadzia says. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“You start telling me things only Jadzia would know,” Kira says, “and maybe I’ll entertain this.”

That would be easy, were Jadzia’s memory not a fragmented quagmire.

“Okay,” she says. “Things only I would know.” That alone won’t be good enough; she can’t rattle off facts about herself, her life. She needs more: the details that don’t come from files or reports, the things only she and Kira – together – would know. Things that happened while no one else was in the room.

It’s all there, among the swamp. She just needs to dig it out.

“You and I flew to Bajor in that horrible little raider,” Jadzia begins, “and it had the tiniest fire extinguisher I’d ever seen in my life and I have no idea how we survived that.”

She focuses on her hands, folded in front of her.

“I made you try an iced raktajino once, with cream, and you hated it. You hated it so much you spit it back into the cup when you thought I wasn’t looking. When I asked you what it was like to kill someone, you told me taking a life means you lose part of yours, and I told you years later that you may have been right.”

It’s all tumbling out of her now, all of it rushing back so quickly, she can’t keep up. It feels like achieving aerodynamic lift, except there are screws missing in the wings.

“The first time we went anti-grav sailing in the holosuite, you fell off. More than once. And I didn’t tell anyone because-”

“Because you didn’t want me to stop coming with you.”

Kira’s eyes are wide, her hands tight on the back of the chair.

They stare at each other, and Jadzia waits, and waits, and waits. 

Nothing happens, except that Kira turns and leaves without a sound, and without looking at her again.

It’s a long time before anyone comes back, but eventually, those two young officers open the door. 

“This way, please.”

They usher her out of the room, one behind her and one in front. The hallway is bright and sterile, and their footsteps echo like they’re too loud.

“Can I ask where we’re going?” Jadzia says.

The officer in front looks over his shoulder, calm and even a little casual. “You’re being released into General Kira’s custody.”

Is that good? At least the officers seem confident their general will safely quarantine her.

There’s a beautiful but odd shuttle waiting – overly sleek and thin, but roomy, with plush seats. It’s something someone writing a holonovel about the future might design. Or at least, it would have been. What, Jadzia wonders, are they writing about the future now?

The officers deposit her there and leave, and she’s left alone with just Kira, her arms folded, her phaser standing out against her hip. Even the phaser has thinned out, but probably not on power.

“Sit down,” Kira says. “Don’t move.”

The chair is much stiffer than she expected. Stars streak by in tight, thin lines through the window; she hadn’t even felt the shuttle move, much less leave orbit.

Kira leans against the wall on the other side. 

“I don’t know what you are,” she says, “and I don’t know how you know what you know, but Jadzia was my friend, and I can never forget the day she died.”

The look she’s giving her, she usually reserves for dictators, murderers, abusers – a pool of barely-restrained fury foaming in her eyes.

Jadzia is the one who looks away first.

They haven’t been traveling very long, maybe fifteen minutes at most, but Jadzia swears she feels the lurch of docking clamps.

“Get up,” Kira orders.

They step outside the shuttle, and Jadzia knows exactly where they are from the sound her heel makes against the plating. She reaches out for a bulkhead, both to steady herself and to feel it. It’s the same. It’s all the same.

Kira grabs Jadzia’s arm hard with one hand and hits her combadge with the other. 

“Kira to Ops. Initiate transport.”

The airlock disappears in an amber rush, and they arrive in a new room, with a bed in the center, with bottles stored along the wall. It’s the infirmary, and in the light across from them both is Julian, pale and still. He looks from Jadzia, to Kira, and back again.

“You were serious,” he breathes.

It would probably be inappropriate, Jadzia thinks, to say, “Surprise.”

Kira hauls her to the bed. “Do the tests.”

It takes Julian a moment to even move. He reaches for a hypospray, presses it to her skin, backs away with shaking hands.

“Computer, establish a level five security field around the biobed. Authorization Kira epsilon two five alpha.”

Julian whips back around. “Is that really necessary?”

It’s okay that she’s so suspicious. It would be strange if she weren’t. 

Jadzia lays down. Julian disappears into the lab and she folds her hands against her stomach, gazes up at the ceiling. The forcefield hums around her, but it’s different – less of a buzz in her teeth and more of a purring in her chest.

She can hear them talking after a while. Their voices start out low, but Julian says something that makes Kira snap at him like a viper, and he snaps back. Then they’re both quiet.

Jadzia closes her eyes.

“Chroniton radiation?”

“None.”

An exchange too low for her to hear, and then, “Cloning?”

“There would be minute differences in the strands,” Julian replies. “There aren’t any.”

There’s something satisfying about that. Or is it terrifying?

“I don’t care,” is the next thing she hears, right next to the bed. “I’m deactivating it.”

The hum stops. Jadzia opens her eyes.

“There’s no question,” Julian says, strangely determined. “You are Jadzia Dax.”

He hasn’t changed, not at all. A beard, little hints of gray peppered throughout, but that’s it. He’s the same, too.

“I was starting to wonder,” Jadzia admits.

Julian laughs, just for a moment. Joy, confusion, fear – he’s wearing all of it on his face. It’s the most open expression she’s ever seen from him.

Kira is off in the back, near the doors. She hasn’t said a word and it’s difficult to read her from all the way over there.

“You won’t be allowed in Ops unattended,” she finally says, and storms out.

Now it’s hard not to be disappointed. Not even perfect DNA could convince her. But death is death, and if Jadzia remembers dying, so do they.

She sits up, swings her legs over the side of the bed, and is immediately dizzy and tingling.

“Whoa,” Julian says, steadying her. “Take it easy.” He grabs another hypo from a tray. “Not only are you dehydrated, you have the muscle density of someone who’s been in a coma for two weeks.”

“Only two?” Seems a bit generous, considering.

Julian doesn’t ask her anything, other than how cold she’d like her water and whether or not the temperature in the infirmary is comfortable. He’s aghast to learn she walked all night, but what else was she going to do? Sit in the woods poking at barrowbugs? Not that she can remember what a barrowbug looks like.

She sets her water down and sits back. Exhaustion hits her now, with crushing strength. Her cheeks feel hot.

“Let’s get you farther in so you can get some rest,” Julian offers.

The infirmary has undergone some aesthetic changes – it’s a little more inviting, a little smoother around the edges. The base Cardassian design remains the same. Jadzia gets a good look at Julian’s uniform, too, and it’s really pushing the boundaries between uniform and jumpsuit. It looks good, though. Sleek and professional, and just the right balance of color in the shoulders.

Julian hypos another round of vitamins, gives her a blanket and a pillow, dims the lights.

“I’ll be in the lab,” he says. Just like always. “Remember to drink your water.”

“Julian?”

His eyes are so kind, and young, and wistful. There’s an ache Jadzia didn’t expect, right in her chest.

“What year is it?”

For the first time since she’s been here, he touches her, laying his palm on the back of her hand.

“2395,” he answers.

That’s a bit more than two weeks.

\---

 

She would be fifty-four now. Maybe she would be a captain. Benjamin would be an admiral, or he might have retired. Maybe right now he’s off in the kitchen, surrounded by steam and spices, Jake over his shoulder, pestering him for a taste while Kasidy laughs.

Her brain fires off questions like fireworks: Who’s still here? How does the station look from the outside? Are the holosuites still running? How did the war turn out? (It must have gone okay; the station isn’t in pieces floating through space.)

There’s an entire world out there that’s going to be brand new to her. How can she sleep with it staring her down?

Julian is there when she opens her eyes, sitting in a chair by the bed, slouched like he’s been there for some time.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi,” he says. He’s quiet, but adds, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to hover. It’s just… here you are.”

“Here I am. And here you are.” Jadzia breaks into a grin. “Look at you. All rugged and handsome.”

Julian laughs. “You, uh,” he says, clearing his throat. “You look pretty good yourself.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Julian isn’t even really looking at her anymore. She’s trying her best to stay tethered to the moment, but the more she watches him slip away, the more she goes back with him. Any longer like this, and she’ll see his desperate face, feel his hand pressing cloth to her mouth, wiping away the blood she can’t stop coughing up, so no one else will have to know about her shredded intestines.

“So you just appeared on Bajor?” Julian asks.

Jadzia nods.

“I suppose it’s not the strangest thing that’s happened to us,” Julian says.

“It’s up there.”

Julian laughs, less reserved this time. “Well, aside from being a medical impossibility, with no symbiont, I stand by my diagnosis.”

“That I’m Jadzia?”

“Yes.”

She half expects him to congratulate her. But without Kira, there’s not really much to celebrate.

“Can I go for a walk?” she asks.

He frowns. “You’ve barely had any sleep yet. We’re looking at _days_ of rest.”

“I know. But we transported right here. I haven’t even seen the Promenade.”

“The Promenade won’t be going anywhere. Rest.”

“Julian,” Jadzia says. “Please.”

Maybe it’s manipulative, but if he’s going to be this stubborn, it’s not like she has a choice. She gives him the face that’s always worked on him – the one that anticipates his denial and gives him a preview of just how sad it will make her. Big, pleading, dejected eyes that can only be defeated by a heart of stone.

And if there’s one thing Julian has not developed in twenty-one years, it’s a stone heart.

“All right,” he relents. “But if you’re not back in fifteen minutes-”

“Fifteen? That’s it?”

He takes her hand and helps her off the bed. “Fifteen, so you’d better get started instead of arguing about it.”

In the doorway, Jadzia squeezes his hand. “Thank you.”

Julian squeezes back, then lets her go.

\---

At first, she thinks she’s in the wrong place. The lights are brighter and softer, and there are so many plants. Greens and purples and blues, vines hanging from the railings, potted flowers sprinkled along the way. It’s more like an outdoor pavilion than a space station.

There are still shops all over, easily double the amount now. There are more people than ever before. Children run past her holding fat jumja sticks. There are more flags along the railings, some of them with unfamiliar insignias, and the railings are clear as glass. It’s busy and lively, every bit a bustling hub.

She laughs. Slowly, she walks, drinking everything in.

The Klingon restaurant is packed, crimson light spilling out the doorway. She can hear singing inside, and the tune is familiar, but the words won’t come to her. Vendors have their tables – mostly Bajoran, but a few Cardassians, and a Vorta woman with an armful of silk garments with golden threads. A Vorta, here, with no Founder nearby.

She looks for Garak’s shop and can’t find it. Maybe it moved? Maybe it’s gone? Maybe she’s switched it with one of the consulates? No, that can’t be right. Wasn’t there a directory close by? At least the skeleton is where it’s supposed to be. Isn’t it?

It doesn’t take much for her to get winded. Julian wasn’t kidding. She leans back against a wall to catch her breath, watching people walk by, looking at their smooth clothes and their svelte jewelry and their styled hair.

Off to her left, there’s a soft ripple of chimes. A door slides away and a crowd trickles out, followed by a vedek, and that’s when Jadzia knows exactly where she is.

After seeing everything around the station that’s changed, it’s the inside of the temple that’s anachronistic. It’s exactly the same in color, size, lighting. Maybe there are a few more candles, but she never did stop to count them before. And the orb – still enshrined in its case, still tucked into the wall, both prominent and unassuming – the orb is still here.

She shuts her eyes and inhales the fading incense. That’s the same, too.

It might be nice to light a candle. That’s what she thinks, at first, but recalls that it didn’t work out so well the last time. 

She turns to leave and finds Kira standing in the doorway. She must not have been there long, and she doesn’t look so sure she wants to stay now.

But despite that, after a moment so long it burns the breath in Jadzia’s lungs, Kira takes a step toward her, and another. Her movements are measured and brave, her back straight and her chin raised. Soon, she’s close enough that Jadzia can see her eyes are red, but Kira won’t look away this time.

When she comes to her, Kira lifts her trembling hands to Jadzia’s face. She cups her cheeks, studying her, gently stroking her skin with her thumbs.

Kira takes one long, stiff breath, and then leans her head against Jadzia’s shoulder, wrapping her arms around her so tightly that she shakes with the effort. She sobs like Jadzia has never seen before – not even after all the friends and family Kira had to bury. Waves and waves of grief, releasing against her like flares of the sun.

Jadzia returns her embrace, unsteady, but squeezing until it hurts.

Now, she knows she’s come home.


	2. Chapter 2

There’s a sound like wheezing, and Jadzia peeks past Kira to see Quark. He’s completely pale, his eyes wide. His clothes are like a Vulcan robe gone wild and his necklace is even more ostentatious. He points at her, his arm shaking.

It’s hard to know what to say. She could always try, “Boo,” but then Quark would bolt out of here and she’d never see him again.

Kira extricates herself while Quark shuffles closer, and she turns away from them both, wiping at her eyes.

Quark lifts his trembling hands to Jadzia’s arms, hesitant and horrified. He grabs her, shuts his eyes, and shakes her once. He turns her from side to side, scrutinizing her forearms for… she’s not sure what, but Quark definitely expects to see something there.

He looks up, slack jawed, and then pinches her cheek and pulls on it.

“Nice to see you too, Quark,” Jadzia slurs through her stretched mouth.

Quark yelps and jumps backwards. Stumbling over his own legs, he yelps again, and then runs from the temple, screaming.

Jadzia massages her sore cheek. “Do I really look that horrible?”

Kira laughs and shakes her head, wiping at her eyes again. “Not at all.”

That’s a relief. So much so, that it’s making her feel dizzy. Jadzia moves to the wall and braces against it, and when her legs begin to tremble, she realizes it’s not relief – she’s just about to pass out.

Kira is at her side immediately. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Jadzia says, sliding to the floor. “I just need a minute.”

Kira brushes hair away from Jadzia’s face. “You’re sweating.”

“It’s okay,” Jadzia insists, breathing hard.

“How did Julian let you go out like this?”

“Don’t blame him,” Jadzia says, not just because Kira appears ready to beat Julian into the carpet. “I made him let me go.”

“You _made_ him?”

Jadzia smiles wryly. “I gave him the face,” she says, and finds Kira’s hand. Kira helps her to stand and she leans against her until her vision clears.

“Don’t make me post guards,” Kira says.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jadzia says, and lets Kira guide her out of the temple.

\---

People start coming the next morning. Kira says they’re doing their best to keep the news as low-key as possible, to give Jadzia plenty of time to rest, but Quark’s screaming probably gave something away. News travels around the habitat ring as fast as ever.

Nog is the first one in. Three pips and a red uniform, though physically, he hasn’t grown much at all. His eyes, too, are red, and he hugs Jadzia with a fierce strength that stuns her.

“Commander,” Kira says, smiling at him.

“General,” he replies. “Your quarters are ready for you, by the way.”

“Nog,” Kira says. “How many times have I told you to give those to someone else? It’s just empty space.”

“On the contrary.” Nog leans over to Jadzia and says, “General Kira is under the mistaken impression that her quarters aren’t hallowed ground here.”

Kira nudges him with her shoulder.

“You know,” Julian interjects, “I think you might want to introduce yourself.” He gestures to Jadzia with a smile. “For those among us who may have missed the announcements.” 

“Oh,” Nog says, clearing his throat and standing at attention. “Yes. Well… on behalf of all of us here at Deep Space Nine, I’d like to welcome you.” He pauses, folding his hands behind his back and bouncing once on his heels. “As its commander.”

“Nog…” Jadzia says, and she has to hug him again. “When?”

“It’ll be a year ago in about two months,” Nog says. “Starfleet wanted someone intimately familiar with station life.”

Commander Nog, in charge of the station. It feels exactly right.

“Oh, and,” Nog adds, “when Doctor Bashir releases you, you’ll have your own quarters as well.” He looks from Julian to Kira and then adds, “Unless… you are staying, right?”

She sure hopes so.

In the afternoon, Quark creeps inside and comes to stand by her bed.

“I figured it out,” he says. “I know why you’re here.”

“Really,” Jadzia says. “Why?”

“You just couldn’t forget me, even in Sto-vo-kor.”

Morn cries so hard he can’t speak. Vic _walks_ in – through the doors, from the Promenade, like any other person.

“What are you doing here?” Jadzia asks, staring in awe.

Vic laughs, his eyes full of that same wonder. “You’re asking _me?_ ”

There’s an oblong badge on Vic’s forearm that she’s never seen before, and he’s eager to show it off once asked.

“It’s my mobile emitter,” he says. “All the guys are packing one now. We can go anywhere we want.” He straightens his suit with pride. “No more holoemitters cramping our style.”

“Starfleet developed these?” Jadzia asks. This had to have been what Quark was looking for. Julian would have said something if she had one of these stuck to her, right?

“Not quite,” Vic says. “Starfleet figured out how to mass-produce them about six years ago.”

“They’re from the future,” Julian adds, a fresh vitamin-packed hypo in hand. “Well, that’s the short version of the story.”

Jadzia wants the long version, of everything. She wants PADDs upon PADDs of long versions, wants to read them until her eyes dry and she falls asleep with them in her lap. Twenty-one years of technological developments have passed her by, and the thought alone is enough to make her lie back down.

There’s not much else to do. Eat, rest, light exercise, rest, repeat. Some of the nurses are jumpy around her, so none of them want to talk. The Bajoran nurses, she’s noticed, won’t make eye contact with her. So, on top of everything else, she’s carrying a Pah-Wraith curse or something. Great.

An elderly Benzite woman comes into the infirmary, shuffling toward Julian and grinning.

“Oh,” Julian says, looking up from his PADD. “You’ll enjoy this.”

“Doctor,” the woman coos, “I took my medicines like you told me, but they just don’t have the same effect as when _you_ give them to me.”

Yeah, they’re going to be a while. 

Julian mouths, “Be right back,” and sets his PADD down by the bed. Jadzia studies it for a few moments, admiring just how paper-thin it is, and then helps herself.

It really is impressive. It’s lighter than she ever thought possible. It’s hard to tell what’s even powering it. But otherwise, it’s still got a touchscreen and that’s all she needs to-

A clear, full-color holographic window, with only the tiniest aberrations, pops up out of the PADD. It’s impressive, but it’s not quite what she wanted. There must be something else she can push to close-

Another window pops up, stacked behind the first. No. Wrong. Jadzia shakes the PADD. Three more windows appear, stacked behind the first two, and then there’s a fourth, which appears adjacent to the stack.

She stays still for a moment. No more windows appear, but none of them disappear, either. She slowly lifts her hand away from the screen, and then sees an oval indicator, amber-colored and pulsing softly. She pushes it, good and hard, with her thumb.

In the end, there are nineteen windows.

Julian returns to find her staring at him through her holographic hellscape.

“Oh my God,” he mutters.

“I think I have some extras,” Jadzia says.

Julian gets her a different PADD – non-medical – and gives her one window, flat on the screen. He shows her how to take the window out into the air, how to put it back in the PADD and keep it there, shows her what the amber button is for and that you usually don’t want to hold it.

“You can’t push on these like we used to,” Julian explains. “I suppose they’d be extremely sensitive, by your standards.”

Jadzia leans back, eyeing him. “My ‘standards’,” she repeats. “Are you, by chance, rubbing this in?”

Julian hands the PADD to her, smiling. “Now, what would give you that idea?”

By the time Kira joins them for dinner, Jadzia has read about Bajor joining the Federation in 2381, read about the completion of their transition to a money-free economy in 2382, about mere handfuls of Vorta venturing out past the Gamma Quadrant, about the Jem’Hadar mostly disappearing, about the revolutions on Cardassia, the treaty that ended the war and the Founders completely withdrawing from the rest of the galaxy. She’s read about the origin of the mobile emitters (and Julian wasn’t kidding, that was a long story), about peace talks on Romulus, about advances so impressive in warp technology that one can now travel to and from the edge of the Delta Quadrant in five days.

Kira passes over some hasperat ( _hasperat_ , that’s what she’d eaten on Bajor, that was the name) and Jadzia takes it without looking up, fixated now on the new transporter range.

“How is that even possible?” she mumbles.

Kira laughs, even though she’s tired, having spent most of the day fielding calls from all over the quadrant.

“I’ll have to start beating them back,” she says, running a hand through her hair. “Starfleet Medical must have called five separate times. They want to send research teams.”

“Absolutely not,” Julian says. “We barely know anything ourselves.”

“That’s what I said. She’s not some attraction for people to gawk at.”

“I’m okay with a little gawking,” Jadzia says. She’s moved from events to names. The O’Briens are on Earth, which is normal enough, but Rom is the current Grand Nagus and Martok is Chancellor Martok of the Klingon High Council.

She laughs, stunned. What must Benjamin be up to if Rom and Martok have become two of the most powerful people in the galaxy?

She finds a file for him and takes a breath. She’s not sure what she hopes he’s doing – he wouldn’t want power or notoriety, but a quiet life doesn’t suit him, either. He’d get broody. Jake would be cranky. No, he should be exploring somewhere, somehow.

_Benjamin L. Sisko. Captain – Starfleet. Status: MIA._

It’s like she’d been riding a shuttle through a rift, and now, in the middle, she’s run out of power.

Status: MIA? 

Kira’s saying something to her. She’s right next to her, but she can’t hear her. Julian, too. Kira reaches for the PADD, but Jadzia holds it tighter.

“Jadzia,” she finally hears, and looks up into Kira’s face, gentle and patient, as she coaxes the PADD out of her grip.

“Oh,” Julian murmurs, once he sees it. They’re all quiet, and Jadzia notices her hands trembling in her lap.

Kira’s hands cover hers, stilling them.

“He’s not dead,” she says, and then she stands, pulling Jadzia with her, and they walk out of the infirmary and up to the second floor of the Promenade. All the shops are closed and there are hardly any people. Jadzia allows Kira to lead her to the window, and they stand together, Kira squeezing her hand as they wait.

The wormhole bursts forth, bright and brilliant.

“Starfleet has been trying to declare him dead for fifteen years,” Kira says. “But every year, Jake and I go and convince them to wait.” She smiles softly. “He calls it our pilgrimage.”

There’s a loneliness clawing inside Jadzia, an emptiness even more vast and terrifying than the absence of souls inside her.

“He’s spoken to Kasidy. As long as she can still feel him and speak to him, then he’s there.”

It’s only open for a few moments. The wormhole folds back in with a flash and vanishes.

“Sometimes,” Kira says, “when I stand here, I think that maybe I can feel him, too.”

The space outside is dark. Jadzia doesn’t feel anything.

\---

Her body is heavy the next morning.

Kira and Julian make sure to spend more time with her. Kira has work to do, she must, but she just shakes her head and continues to stay.

They tell her about Odo, too, back in the Great Link with the rest of the Founders.

“When we last spoke to him,” Kira says, “he let us know they were beginning an important ritual in the Link.”

“It would be like a conference,” Julian says. “That’s how he described it.”

“How long ago was that?” Jadzia asks.

“Five years ago,” Kira answers.

This is too much. Who else is missing, or dead, or linking?

Joseph Sisko passed away, and when they tell her that, when they tell her he died before he could see his son come home, she can’t take any more.

For two days, she doesn’t touch or even look at her PADD.

\---

“Are my parents alive?” Jadzia asks.

Julian pulls up his chair and sits. “Yes.”

“My sister?”

“Yes.”

_Hey, Mom and Dad, all that grieving you did for your dead daughter? Just kidding, she’s fine._

Jadzia turns over, stares at Julian, and asks him, “Why am I here?”

He has no answer, but it’s not as if she expected one.

\---

She replicates a raktajino. It’s hideous and bitter, and she coughs on it.

“That’s odd,” Julian says. “This replicator was just serviced.”

He’s humoring her. It’s not the replicator.

“I’m going for a walk,” she says.  
There’s nowhere for her to go. The shops are all different on the inside; so many of these people are strangers now. And none of them know Benjamin Sisko. None of them know they stand here in this place because of him.

There’s music coming from Quark’s, an unfamiliar beat thrumming through the floor. The lights still blink over the doorway, though there are more of them.

It’s a lot darker inside than she remembers. There are strange, flickering beams coming up from the floor and coming down from the ceiling in patterns and shapes. There’s a crowd in the center, packed near the staircase, dancing.

People are grabbing drinks from the bar and rushing out like the last song will play at any moment, so it’s wide open. Jadzia takes a seat right in the center.

When Quark turns around and finds her there, he spills a little of the drink he’s holding.

“Stop doing that,” he yells over the music. “You can’t just appear out of nowhere.”

“You’re about three days too late,” Jadzia yells back.

Quark pours three more drinks, passing them out to the arms reaching past Jadzia’s head.

“What’s with the music?” she asks.

“It’s Ensign Klartik’s maturation day. They rented us out.”

Jadzia notices the giant plugs corked in Quark’s ears. She might want some herself.

“Listen,” Quark says. “I don’t think you have any latinum, and I don’t give out a death discount.”

Jadzia frowns. “You still know how to make a girl feel special.”

The music pulsates through her, beating in her muscles. The pattern of the rhythm is becoming predictable, and grounding, in a way.

“They told me Odo hasn’t come here for five years,” she says.

Quark scoffs and slams down a glass. “Don’t bother thinking about him. Never calls, never writes.”

“I heard Benjamin doesn’t, either.”

“What, Sisko?” Quark waves his hand dismissively. “He’s fine. He’s up with those guys.”

This, coming from Quark? 

“You think so?” Jadzia asks.

“He’s obviously pretty comfortable in there,” Quark says, “so I wouldn’t expect him anytime soon.”

Jadzia watches him pour three liquids together into one glass, where they fizzle and spark, then settle into a golden mass. Quark pokes a straw through it and hands it off.

“You really think he’s still alive?” Jadzia asks. “After twenty years?”

Quark squints at her. Okay, point taken.

There’s some cheering from the crowd, and someone is lifted up on top of it, their arms out, propelled along by others’ hands and trunks and fins.

When Jadzia turns back to the bar, there’s a glass in front of her, filled with neon purple liquid.

“Drink that,” Quark says. “Turns your brain right off.”

“And what about the latinum?” Jadzia asks.

“I’ll reopen your tab.”

The drink smells like syrup and looks like candy. Benjamin would hate it.

She knocks it back and immediately chokes on it. Quark hands her a napkin and she coughs into it until tears roll down her cheeks.

“Must be out of practice,” she says.

Quark slides another glass in her direction. “Guess you’ll have to try again.”

Only three days back, and she’s already running up debts.

This one goes down just fine.

\---

Julian’s eyes narrow as he reads his tricorder. Then, they widen.

“You’re hungover.”

Jadzia drapes an arm over her eyes. “You get all that from a two-second scan?”

Julian leans in, serious. In a low voice, he asks, “Are you going to be all right?”

“You tell me,” Jadzia responds. “Do you think this is permanent?”

“Your hangover?”

“No.”

Julian takes his time folding up his tricorder.

“Are you asking me,” he says, “if I think you’re going to disappear the same way you reappeared?” 

“A little heavy for 0800?”

As is becoming his daily ritual, Julian drags his chair over to the side of her bed. He rubs his face and sighs.

“I can’t say I haven’t thought about it,” he admits. “We all know there’s absolutely nothing I can point to in order to explain this. But,” he adds, “I can safely rule out dipping into another dimension, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s not.” No, dimension-hopping isn’t what’s going to keep her up at night. It’s not knowing who or what’s responsible for this, and whether or not they might decide to change their mind. “It wouldn’t be very fair,” Jadzia says, “to tell people until we knew for sure.”

She thinks she’s keeping her expression neutral, but Julian looks at her with such gripping sadness that she quickly harbors doubts about her success. 

“If we were to assume a disappearance is inevitable,” Julian finally says, looking down at his hands, “wouldn’t it be more unfair to deny others the chance to see you before you go?”

Yeah, Worf would kill anybody who kept this from him.

“Again, there’s no evidence to suggest you won’t disappear, but there’s no evidence to suggest you will,” Julian says. “It won’t be healthy for us to dwell on the former. So why don’t we just assume you’re here to stay?”

When he says it like that, it’s not so hard to agree.

“We’ll need to make a lot of calls,” Jadzia says.

“Don’t worry about that,” Julian says. “Kira and Nog and I can take care of it. Who should we contact first?”

Jadzia doesn’t have to ponder it for very long. “Everyone.”

It won’t be much of a party without Benjamin, but that’s no excuse not to try. 

\---

Just as promised, Nog delivers her assigned quarters the same day she receives her clean bill of health.

“It’s not either of the rooms you used to be in,” he says. “And it’s on the opposite side of the habitat ring, but…”

“It’ll be fine,” Jadzia assures him. It might be nice to change things up a bit. 

He looks her up and down, reminiscent of a proud father. He pulls her in for another of his amazingly strong hugs. “It’s good to have you here again.”

Kira walks her to the turbolift and says, “I was thinking about taking some leave. To stay here, if you needed anything.”

Jadzia’s shoulders sag with relief. “I need you to have breakfast with me tomorrow.”

Kira grins. “Done. Oh, and…” She pulls a combadge out of her pocket, a Bajoran one, and places it in Jadzia’s palm. “Call me anytime.”

It’s the warmest a combadge has ever felt in her hand.

The corridors in the habitat ring are almost unrecognizable, and Jadzia has that feeling again that she’s in the wrong place. The textured shadows and the dim lighting are gone, replaced by plants alongside doorways and clear lights that make her eyes hurt. It’s the same inside her quarters.

“Uh, Computer,” she says. It still responds to voice commands, right?

It does, beeping a low airy tone. But at least no personalized assistant holograms appear in front of her. Just the same old unobtrusive computer.

“Dim lights by twenty- no. Forty percent.”

It helps, somewhat, though it still seems like this is a resort room and not a home.

She sits on the bed. Still firm. A little cold. That’s more like it. There’s a table next to the bed, and she sets down Kira’s combadge.

There are curtains draped over the windows, in deep burgundy. The carpet feels softer than the bed, springy and fresh.

In the bathroom, she comes upon a full-length mirror. If she’d known, she probably would have waited to come inside, but she’s here now, finally seeing her face. Really, it’s not so different, but her cheeks seem gaunt. The wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, and the new lines in her skin – those are surprising. It’s not so different, but who is this woman from the future staring back at her?

As long as she’s here, she may as well view the whole package. She removes her clothes, dropping them on the floor. The skin at her hip is drawn tight over the bone. She can see her ribs and her muscle tone is gone. Compared to before, she just looks ill. 

She has no scars, not even the ones she should have or the ones she thinks she should have after dying. Her skin flap is firm and flat. She runs her fingers over it, again and again, but every time, it’s like nothing was ever inside. A hard chill rushes through her.

There’s a desk with a monitor built into an alcove in the wall and an immaculate panel that hums to life at her presence – she doesn’t even have to touch it. She has a message box, and a log, both fresh and empty, like it’s her first time here.

Jadzia returns to the bed and lies back, folding her hands above her abdomen, feeling her pulse there.

The lights darken on their own after a while, and she doesn’t bother to do anything but pull herself up to the pillows. She never thought she’d be so happy to hear herself breathe. Slowly, gently, she drifts. 

Something brushes against the carpet. Her eyes snap open in the dark.

Maybe it was half of a dream?

She listens hard.

No, she may not be able to remember what she ate for breakfast, but she still knows how to tell when someone else is in a dark room.

“Computer, lights.”

In front of the window, sitting in the desk chair, one leg over an armrest, is a Starfleet captain. At least, judging by his uniform, he’s a captain. And he’s scowling.

There’s something familiar about him that keeps her from calling security or reaching for phasers she doesn’t have anymore. She leans forward, studying his face.

That’s when it hits her.

“It’s you,” Jadzia says.

“Don’t get excited,” Q huffs. “I don’t usually bother paying visits to the dead.”

Now, wait a minute: she’s just spent a lot of time proving she’s alive.

Hesitantly, Jadzia asks, “Am I dead now?”

“NO!” With a flash, the chair is back in its place and Q stands at the foot of the bed. “That’s what’s so baffling! Why are you here?!”

Well, if _he_ doesn’t know-

“There are rules.” Q paces back and forth, his arms folded across his chest. “People can’t just be _brought back!_ Everybody knows that!”

Jadzia raises an eyebrow. “But haven’t you-”

“Oh, please,” Q interrupts. “That’s completely different.” He throws his arms up and paces again. “I can’t believe this, what a disruption!”

“Well, if you’re- if you’re here to send me back-” Jadzia stammers.

“Like I could!” Q rolls his eyes with such force, he would have pulled a muscle, were he human. “ _This_ is why I never came back here, this is why I can’t stand these-”

He trails off into unintelligible grousing, gesturing furiously. She should probably interrogate Q about all this while she has the chance, but he continues to upset himself, making wild facial expressions. He gives one final, fed up exclamation, swirls both his hands in one dramatic flourish, and disappears in another flash of light.

So much for interrogation.

Jadzia glances at Kira’s combadge on the table, then looks back at the window, at the stars drifting by outside.

“Anyone else?” she asks, and waits.

“No other biosigns detected in this room,” the computer offers.

Jadzia sighs. “I wasn’t asking you.”

She lies back down, under the covers this time, and turns off the lights.


End file.
